


Pain Is A Solemn Song

by WingedWhale



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Animagus!Newt Scamander, Animagus!Percival Graves, But there's humor, Dark fic, F/M, Gellert Grindelwald Being an Asshole, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Newt Scamander is a Sweetheart, Original Percival Graves Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Queenie Goldstein is a good listener, Rape Recovery, Timeline is a little different, if you squint you might see some fluff, musical themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-12 16:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15344070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedWhale/pseuds/WingedWhale
Summary: Percival Graves fights to free himself from Grindelwald's private torture chamber, possessing a power few can hope to achieve. Grindelwald discovers the true value of his 'pet' once Percival slips free of his leash and vows to move mountains to get him back, for the dark wizard has plans, and he's about to turn the world upside down. Newt Scamander returns when Frank pops up in Central Park. What he doesn't know is that he is the only person who can help Percival heal. And Seraphina Picquery conspires with Queenie Goldstein to set the two men up. After all, it's clear they were made for each other. The key is just getting them to realize it before it's too late. For the the magic of love is the most powerful force in the Universe.





	1. solenne

Percival Graves was alive. His body was ravaged by sharp and savage pain, no doubt he'd sport some rather unsettling scars once the damage healed, but he was alive. He fought to stay conscious through the haze of sedating potions that Grindelwald had forced him to drink, he had been willing himself to overcome the steady pull on his mind to slip back into the nightmare world of his dreams, the abyss that called like a frozen wind in the darkness curling around his consciousness and stripping away at his soul.

He groaned and pulled at the shackles that bound his wrists to the wall as well as the metal collar locked around his neck. He was weak. That much was certain. But he wasn't _completely_ weak. In fact, he was far stronger than Grindelwald gave him credit for. If he put everything he had into the wandless alohomora, he knew he'd be able to free himself of the chains and open the door of his cell.

But there was one problem. The reason Percival hadn't tried to escape before Grindelwald started truly torturing him was because to break the dark wizard's wards on the locks would require an incredible amount of magic. He was already running on empty. The drugs had kept him alive but he hadn't eaten or hydrated properly since he'd been captured weeks ago. If he bottomed out the rest of his magical reserves . . . He'd be left completely without magic.

And given the state he was in he honestly wasn't sure how long it would take for his power to return to him. There was a distinct possibility that freeing himself would burn the magic out of his soul permanently. He trembled at the thought.

Gathering his thoughts, Percival decided that trying to escape was better than sitting here waiting for his captor to return. He practiced some deep breathing to prepare for the huge output of magic he was about to release. He had to save himself. It was clear no-one was coming for him. Had that bastard really been so convincing?

_Fuck him,_ he thought. _Fuck all of them._

Then he counted to three and raised his hand towards the door. He was met with resistance. _Lots_ of resistance. Sweat stood out on his brow and he let loose a guttural cry as he tried with all the power locked within him to break free of his prison. Veins stood out on his neck and his body went rigid. Maybe he'd miscalculated. Maybe this was actually going to kill him.

_It doesn't matter. I'll be free one way or another._

Then the shackles and collar suddenly broke apart and the door swung open. He'd done it. He was shaking like a leaf now and for a few seconds he worried that his monumental efforts would all be for nought and he'd simply pass out for Grindelwald to find later on the floor of the cell.

But he fought to stay conscious and he slowly crawled over to the bars of the cell so that he could grasp something to help him stand on muscles that hadn't been properly used in far, _far_ too long. It was a testament to his strength as a man that he was able to pull himself up off the floor, short of breath though it made him.

_God damn the world that has delivered me into this moment._ He knew he had to move and somehow his aching muscles were able to support his bones as he inched his way out of the barred room. He felt horribly nauseous as he exited the cell, still holding onto the bar tightly. It would be just his luck for him to die _after_ he'd escaped. He'd surely go down in history and become a mockery to posterity. They'd laugh or talk about him with pitying tones lacing their voices.

_No!_ He was not going to be something less than the creature he was. He took a small step forward towards a hallway, wondering if he might give himself an aneurysm by force of concentration. He let out a pained noise and steadied himself to remain upright.

_Fucking hell, . . . If only I could change into my Animagus form, four legs are better than two. Or else send a Patronus off to Seraphina . . ._

He let out a shaky exhalation. He had to try, right?? If he was still alert and standing after all he did to break Grindelwald's wards on the locks, he _might_ have it in him to send off a Patronus. Except wandless Patronus's were incredibly hard to produce. Like pretty much insane levels of hard. And he was already exhausted, trembling in utter agony and his reserves of magic running on empty.

But it wasn't looking like he had any other options. Even if he did fire off a Patronus, he'd probably collapse into a coma or something. Lucky him. Into Oblivion's waiting arms he would gladly go. _Anywhere but existing in this hell hole a second longer. Naked and afraid. Stripped of all dignity._

But even _if_ he was able to conjure a Patronus, what was he going to have it say to the oh so _good_ Madame President? She was a former lover and he had thought they'd had a strong friendship, as strong as any familial bond. _Clearly,_ he'd been mistaken if the bitch hadn't even been suspicious of 'his' recent behavior. Even now, in his bright and flaring fury he regretted thinking of her in association with that term. But God, was he hurt by her apparent apathy. Gutted, really. The crushing weight of his feelings threatening to bring him to his knees. If he let _that_ happen he was afraid he'd never get up again. And he couldn't just give up and let that fucking bastard win. He ran a hand through his dirty, unkempt hair.

He needed to keep the message simple. He also needed to think of one hell of a happy memory. His first piano recital? He'd come from a musical family, his mother was a violinist and his father was an opera singer. While Percival was quite good on a violin, he was bloody amazing on the piano. He'd do duets with his mother on her violin and his father singing. They had the most fun singing Christmas carols. He remembered fondly Christmas Eve of 1900 when his parents had bought him a puppy. Dogs were allowed as pets at Ilvermorny and Astrid the little papillon was his dearest friend. And Seraphina had loved her almost as much as he did.

Right. So happy memory selected he held out his hand and said the words "Expecto Patronum!" A tiny spark of blue light flamed around his palm and then winked out in the span of six seconds. _Fuck._ It wasn't looking good for his chances of conjuring his lemur patronus . . . But Percival Ignatius Graves was not a quitter.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Yelling actually seemed to do the trick. A spectral indri lemur burst forth from his hand and floated in front of him. Percival could feel his strength leaving him.

"Help me, Serafina. Grindelwald has imprisoned me and has taken on my appearance. I need to you to help me get out of here. _Please._ Come quickly."

He nodded to the Patronus to send it on its way and it floated off. It would tell Seraphina his exact location. He was so light-headed now he felt that it was more a miracle that he was still standing than that he produced a wandless Patronus. He swayed and held onto the bars of his cage for support. His eyes watered from sharp nerve pain shooting through his extremities. God, he was a serious mess. He hoped he'd made the right choice.

And he fucking hoped and prayed that the President was not with his fucking doppelgänger when the Patronus reached her. His legs like jelly, he slid down to the cold concrete floor. His whole body felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. Now, a throbbing strongly piercing headache bloomed inside his skull. He let his pride fall away and retched violently, his chest heaving with racking convulsions. He coughed up blood. Not a good sign.

If Seraphina didn't show up soon, he'd be gone. He imagined what she might say when she found him. Would she be patient and kind? Or would she bossily tell him that casting a wandless Patronus with the condition he was already in was nearly tantamount to suicide?

God, he was thirsty. He swallowed the blood down trickling from the back of his nose with difficulty. That'd be something all right, to die choking on his own blood just as he was about to finally taste freedom. He smiled despite the blood and the pain.

At least he had tried his best. He was okay with that. For how many people could actually conjure a wandless patronus? If he slipped into unconsciousness and never woke again, he was all right with that. His eyes fluttered closed and he leaned his head against the cold steel bars.

He'd come so very, very close. He smiled as he felt his heart rate speed up, his pulse pounding in his ears and neck. Clearly, his heart was trying to compensate for all the strain on his body. His head felt like it was locked in a vice. He trembled violently again and coughed up more blood.

His last thought was that it was so very, very cold. Then, he slipped into blackness.


	2. estinto:as soft as possible

Percival very slowly came to, his consciousness rising into reality in a sluggish and disorientating pull to the surface of the waking world. To say that the first thing he noticed was the pain, was to say that water was wet, that the sky was blue, that winter was colder than summer. It was a truth, written in stone. The real question was, what hurt the most?

Was it his nerve endings rubbed raw by various curses? Was it his skin, freezing cold, despite being covered in blankets? Was it his muscles, seizing and relaxing in a seemingly endless loop of sharp twisting agony and punctuated by the deep penetrating pain of the dead bone tissue in his arms and legs? Was it the torturous wounds on his back, that he was now laying on and thus putting terrible pressure on the bright white hot agony that laced through his body with every breath and set his jaw tightening in a futile attempt to ward against it?

Perhaps the worst pain was the pain in his throat, it felt like he had swallowed several swords, cutting pain lancing through the soft tissue of his neck and throat. Or maybe the worst pain was the shameful pain. The pain of being overpowered and . . . Percival grit his teeth and pushed those memories out of the way. He knew that the memories of what Grindelwald had done would never go away. He, being surprisingly alive, supposed he was just going to have to learn to live with them. Lucky him. He still hadn't opened his eyes. God why was it so exhausting just coming out of unconsciousness? Was that a bad sign?

Idly, he wondered where he was? The critical ward of the MACUSA's own hospital wing? Or the Wizarding Hospital near Lexington Ave? Was anyone in the room right now? Had Seraphina visited him while he'd been unconscious? Or had she simply set a junior Auror to watch him and track his every heartbeat? She wouldn't do that to him, would she? He let out a soft hiss. He was going to have to screw up enough energy to open his eyes.

Was this the effects of all magic they'd poured into him? Or was it after-effects of almost dying several times over? He found that he could feel his body just fine. It hurt like hell, but his nerves seemed responsive enough. He could feel a needle in the back of his left hand. Unlike some other places, like Wizarding Britain, MACUSA was up on the latest and greatest medical technology of the no-majes and used blood transfusions when a patient had lost way more blood than a simple spell would cure.  
He wondered how his magic was doing. Would he be able to do spells right away as if nothing had happened? Or would he have to labour to complete even the most basic of charms? Would he have to wait days, weeks, or even months before his magic was strong again? He mentally shuddered at the thought. He'd be defenseless, prone, and oh so tantalizing to the world's worst dark wizard.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind. He was not about to play the victim. He experimentally took a deeper breath, testing his lungs and trachea. A sudden twinge in his ribs made his body twitch in response to the sudden pain and he let out a mostly silent expletive.

Fuck. So his ribs were broken. He supposed he should be lucky that his entire body wasn't broken. Percival mustered all of his concentration into the Herculean effort of opening his eyes. His room was dark, the only light coming from the moonbeams filtering in through the blinds on the one window. There were two tables, one against the wall opposite his bed and another at his side. And there was . . .

_Seraphina_. She was curled over on the side of his bed, her head pillowed on her arms, her eyes closed in sleep. By the angle of the moonlight it couldn't have been much past midnight. Percival blinked the heaviness from his eyelids and was simply content to watch his former lover sleep. Her brilliant blonde tresses spilled in a pool on top of his leg. He tried a smile. That didn't hurt. Thank God for small favors.

He sighed softly, the pain in his ribs a jabbing counter thrust to the peace within his mind. That, coupled with the pain of everything else made him want to curl into a ball to protect his vulnerable injuries. He had to come to terms with the fact that prior to his kidnapping he had never truly known the absolute hell of agonizing physical pain. It throbbed with his heartbeat and flashed over his skin like fire. Where before, he'd thought he'd had a high pain threshold, he now, considering everything that was going on inside of his body, considered himself well and beyond any expectation of stoicism. He felt like he needed a whole body transplant.

He could tell that talking was going to hurt. He let out an indignant little snort. Everything was going to hurt. Probably for a good while so he might as well get used to it.

"Seraphina," he called gently. His voice was dry and hoarse, making him sound decades older than he was. He watched the woman before him, waiting a few seconds for her to respond. She didn't. His lips quirked up into a sideways smile. Seraphina Picquery had never been easy to wake.

His mind flashed through memories of the two of them in bed together and how he used to wake her with a kiss. He had loved her then, and now he loved her still.

"Seraphina!" he exclaimed, with an effort that was embarrassingly difficult. A sudden lance of pain shot through his lungs and he stiffened against it, willing it to pass. He was rewarded for his trouble though, as he watched beautiful brown eyes flutter open.

They blinked and focused on him. He smiled and her eyebrows shot up in happy surprise.

"Percival!" she cried happily.

"I'm alive," he told her.

"Gods above, you scared me nearly to death."

"That's not funny," he told her softly.

Seraphina didn't say anything for a long time, her eyes welling with tears. She very gently laid her hand on top of the blankets covering his legs.

"I failed you," she said somberly.

"You couldn't have known, Phina. What were you supposed to think, that your ex-lover was kidnapped and replaced with an evil mastermind doppelgänger? I don't hold you in ill regard for not making the leap in logic."

"You should," she said dejectedly.

"I'm here," he said gently. "I'll mend."

"Ever the stoic."

"Not quite," he said softly. "Did they tell you anything about my condition or is that information for my ears only?"

"Well, only the obvious I'm afraid. I'm not your wife so even I don't have access to your personal file here. You almost died from blood loss and you had a hell of an infection from the open wounds on your back. There's a medicated dressing on it now."

"I can tell I have a few broken ribs," he told her. "But practically every bone in my body hurts."

"Would you like some water?" she asked and Percival wondered if she was intentionally trying to change the subject. There was an angle in how she held herself that plainly stated she was uncomfortable. Percival wasn't even sure how he felt about that.

So instead of broaching the issue, Percival nodded for the water and she went over to a paper cup dispenser against the wall and then filled it with a simple wandless spell. She then conjured a straw. When her gaze met his again, there was a depth of guilt and sorrow that made his chest hurt.

"You'll have to sit up a bit so you don't choke. Now, the bed's charmed to raise up and help you into a sitting position but you'll have to scoot back a bit." She set the water on the bedside table and offered Percival her forearm to brace against. She stiffened her muscles as he pushed against her and with a joined effort, Percival was sitting upright in the bed. Seraphina side eyed the glowing numbers floating in midair at the top of his bed.

"Your heart rate's skyrocketed. I'm sure the healer and nurse will be in to see what's up. If they're not, I'll have them sacked."

Seraphina helped Percival take a sip of water and the liquid in his mouth was heaven on earth.

"How long was I out?"

"Three days," she told him.

"How long have you been here?"

Seraphina looked at him, really looked at him, the kind of look she showed no-one but him. It nearly took his breath away.

"The whole time, Percival. I haven't left your side."

He hadn't expected that and he hardly knew what to say. It spoke volumes about her depth of guilt and love for him. Now it was his turn to be a bit uncomfortable. If she only knew the true extent of what he'd endured, she'd break down right before his eyes. He couldn't bear seeing that. He took another drink of water and tilted his head to the side.

There was distinctly another matter which he hadn't wanted to acknowledge. But now it was a big glaring elephant in the room and he couldn't help but ask, "Is he in custody?"

Seraphina was uneasily quiet. She stared into his eyes, as if the weight of her gaze would be enough to implore him to stay calm.

"You never caught him," he said hollowly, accusatorially, as the silence stretched on.Seraphina stared at him, like he had just insulted her mother.

"We have our people working with the British Ministry of Magic as well as the German magical authorities and no signs of him have turned up yet. We tried Percival," she said slowly. "If it's any consolation we don't think he is in New York,"

Percival let out a cold sharp laugh. "Like he can't return on a second's whim?"

"That's why we're taking-I'm taking-precautions to ward against it, There's a temporary ban on international Portkeys being drawn up for me to sign. That should help guard our borders."

It was the very last thing he needed or wanted to hear. However, he hadn't exactly expected the man to be in MACUSA custody. He felt distinctly ill, like time had slowed down.

"The Restricted and Experimental Spell Department is working on anti-dark magic charms as we speak."

Percival didn't know what to say. He stared at the woman he'd once been madly in love with, trying his damnedest to not have his gaze look too dead inside. Seraphina cried silently, a wretched look of misery and pained turmoil in the beautiful lines of her striking features.

"Oh God, Percival, I'm sorry," she said thickly. "I should have caught this monster in my midst." 

"I don't blame you, please don't think that I do. In fact, the last thing, the very last thing I want right now is for you to beat yourself up about this."

She sobbed and put her hand over his. "Then you, good sir, are a better human being than I." Her words were soft and trembling.

"Remember it won't do anyone any good if the two of us are wrecked over this," he said gently.

"That's a rather inapt turn of phrase, don't you think? I'm no legilimens but I know you're really saying that one of us has to rise above the fucked up shit sandwich of everything that's happened."

"You know me so well," he said with a hollow little laugh. Percival took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. They stayed like that just staring into each other's eyes until the healer and nurse burst into the room, eyes wide that Percival was alert and sitting up in bed no less.

"Mister Graves! For a man who very nearly shuffled off the mortal coil six ways from Sunday, you look very good indeed."

"I told you he had to pull through," Seraphina told him almost a little testily. "I'll go fetch some tea while you look him over." She bent and kissed his cheek. "Be very careful with him."

"Of course, Madam President," the healer said with an easy smile. "Do see if you can find some green tea, that should help with the healing magic."

"Green tea it is," she said. She paused then at the end of Percival's bed, as if she were so loathe to leave she couldn't quite make herself physically walk away. She bent down and kissed his forehead. "Healer Daugherty is the very best at internal medicine.

Scream if he hurts you and I'll come rain down holy hell upon him." Percival let out a little string of soft laughter.

"You think I'm joking?"

"It'll be fine, I'm sure," he told her. She nodded and gave a quelling look to the healer as she left.

Quickly though, without Seraphina, a sudden ugly wave of fear bubbled up in his chest. He could feel his heartbeat racing. And he found he wasn't precisely afraid of Grindelwald coming back for him so much as dealing with the damned memories of what had already transpired. He took another drink of water.

"How do you feel?" Daugherty asked him. He was a tall middle aged man with longish black hair, blue eyes and glasses.

"Like I've been tortured, raped, and starved," Percival said flatly.

"Now that you're up, I'll get you some painkilling potions and a vitamin supplement," Daugherty said. "I . . . I've never seen anyone survive something as bad as what you've went through."

"Well, I like to buck trends," he said sardonically.

"Your medical file is one hundred percent private. No-one will know the details of your injuries unless you decide to discuss it with them or there's a subpoena."

Percival cocked his head, his expression unreadable. "Will I ever recover?"

Daugherty swallowed hard. "I don't know, Mister Graves. I don't have a magic ball."

"How about how long do I have to stay here?"

"Now, that I can answer. We'll see how things go, but if you continue to be talkative and free of infection I'd say you can leave in about a week. Maybe ten days."

"I've been held a prisoner for three months already, I'd like to return to my own goddamned home as soon as humanly possible please."

"I get that," Daugherty said softly. "Cooperate with everything I say and we'll see what happens. Some of the wounds and injuries caused by unknown curses are resistant to magical healing."

"That asshole didn't give me syphilis or anything, did he?"

"Not that we can see. I'm honestly astonished your sitting up and talking coherently."

"Would you rather I feign catatonia?"

"No, no. I'm happy to see you doing better than my expectations."

"Anything really serious happen?"

"I had to take out your spleen. It's one of the reasons why you're getting the blood. The tissue in your bones is necrotic, meaning-"

"I know what necrotic means!"

The healer nodded. "Well you'll have bone pain for the foreseeable future as new tissue grows to replace the dead patches around your hip sockets and shoulders, also your left knee. For a no-maj it would take a year or more to heal, hopefully you can see some progress in a few months."

"But there's a chance I can still return to work?"

"Yes, Mister Graves. There is certainly a chance. As I said earlier your cooperation will determine how long you stay in this hospital room as well as how long it takes for you to get back to your old life."

"How soon until I can eat real food?"

"Let's try you on the fortified protein drinks for a couple of days and also we'll let you have some toast and fruit."

Percival let out a hollow sounding laugh. "Oh, joy."

"Now that pleasantries have been exchanged, I'd like to examine you."

"I figured as much."

Healer Daugherty removed the blankets from Percival's body, handing them off to the nurse with instructions for her to pull down new ones from the overhead cabinet.

"There's some discharge from your surgical site."

"Is that bad?"

"No, but we do need to keep an eye on it." He touched just beside the stitches with the back of his hand. "It's a bit warm but not enough to be unduly concerned about it."

"Can you turn over onto your side for me? If not I can just use magic to do it."

"I've had enough magic used to manipulate my body, thanks." Gritting his teeth shifted his weight and moved onto his side. Sweat stood out on his skin with the sudden physical effort to do even the simplest of actions. The large gauze pad was peeled off of the wounds on his back. Daugherty inspected the wound for a couple minutes without saying anything.

"On a scale of one to ten how bad do these gashes feel?"

"Are you fucking serious?"

"You better believe I am, I need to know exactly what you're feeling so I can adequately stay one step ahead of the infection."

"I don't know, a six?"

"Is that a serious six or a I'm-holding-onto-my machismo six?"

Graves was happy the man didn't see him roll his eyes. "Yeah well, keep poking me and it's going to get worse."

"Sorry," Daugherty said kindly, I just need to see if any of this dark magic is beginning to seep out of the wound."

Percival felt a not unpleasant cooling sensation spread over the deep gouges in his back.

"How does that feel?" Daugherty asked.

"A little nice, actually."

The healer chuckled. "You know contrary to what people think, I actually don't get paid more for people who are riddled with conditions such as yours."

"No? That's a shame. I could have made you a millionaire."

"Mister Graves," Daugherty said softly. "I don't know that I could name many men or women who might have the power to bounce back from such a horrific incident. I don't know if you're joking its own sake or simply crafting a mask. Let me tell you, there are those who,-whenever you might be ready-"

Percival held up a slightly trembling hand. "You don't have to finish that sentence."

"Not all wounds are visible to the naked eye," he said gently.

A sound from the door saved Percival from having to respond. Picquery opened the door a crack and asked permission to enter.

"I have a hot mug of tea and honey for Percival! And a latte for me." She set the drinks on the table. Her eyes met the nurse's. "Send word that I'd very much like the Goldstein sisters to report to me here." Percival arched a brow.

"Why, Phina?" The fact that she wanted them both was fishy.

"If I leave, my guards that have been standing outside your door leave with me. I want that legilimens and the senior Auror to be here when I cannot."

At first, Percival was taken aback by her words. Then he processed their meaning and a horrific dawning comprehension came over his handsome facial features.  
  
 "And when you're released from here you will stay with either me at my house or the Goldstein's at their apartment until he is caught or killed."

Percival stared at her as if she was insane.

"Do you want to stay in this place longer? Because that's what you'll have to do if you say no to me."

Healer Daugherty looked over at her. "She's right. You need to have someone to help you when you leave my care. Those scars on your back aren't going to heal themselves. They'll need twice daily cream once the dressing is taken off for good."

Percival pinched the bridge of his nose and just simply shook his head. That's just what he wanted, to either stay at his ex-fiance's now best friend's place, or stay with his favorite auror and her mind reading sister. But what was for damn sure was that he

would not be spending any time more than necessary in this spartan hospital room. It smelled like rubbing alcohol and stale magic.

He took a small sip of tea. "There was once a me who would argue this until at least one of us was blue in the face, but at this stage I hardly give a fuck anymore."

"Duly noted," Seraphina stated. She tried her own drink.

"I'll be back with some toast, and maybe some strawberry jam," the nurse told him before taking her leave.

"I'll see you later in the day, Mr. Graves," Daugherty told him, nodding sharply and then following the nurse out the door.

"No screaming matches whilst I was gone?"

Percival blinked. He was going to have to tell her the truth of what he'd endured. But he found he didn't have the stomach, nor the heart for it right now. So instead, he just sipped his tea and smiled.


End file.
